A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING

CHAPTER ONE

Ginny's POV

I didn't even look up at the light tap on the door. I knew who it was, and I knew he'd let himself in in about three seconds time.

I tried to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but it was useless. More kept coming. I knew my eyes would be puffy and red; I'd been crying for the best part of an hour now, with no sign of the tears stopping, or even pausing for the briefest second, in the near future. I tried to even out my breathing, but the air hitched in my throat; when I exhaled, it was shaky and ragged.

As predicted, the door swung open cautiously and Harry stepped in, shutting it behind him. Since I purposely had my back to the door, he couldn't see my face, which bought me a few precious seconds.

"Hey, Gin. Not going back tonight?" he asked, casually, as he walked towards me. I couldn't see him, but I could hear his shoes squeaking on the cheap linoleum. I could have had wood, or even carpeting, but I didn't see the point. I only come in here on my occasional breaks and nights like tonight. We didn't finish training until gone two am, and I was expected back by five thirty for breakfast.

I knew my voice would betray me, so I just shook my head.

He came up behind me, but I didn't turn my head. I remained curled up on the couch, staring resolutely ahead. "Me, either," he commented. "I guess we're the only ones, aside from Oliver."

Oliver, our coach, never went back to his hotel, it seemed. Even if we had the gift of twelve or so hours off—all of which, for me, were spent either eating or catching up on some much-needed sleep.

I think he liked the privacy. The quiet.

I wish I had that luxury. I got screaming fans and Daily Prophet reporters everywhere I went. Just because I knew what I was letting myself in for when I joined the team didn't mean I liked it.

Harry came around the couch, going to sit on the other end. I knew the exact moment he saw my face. All the air left his lungs in a whoosh and he froze, his eyes fixed on me.

"Ginny, what the fuck?"

But he knew. I knew he knew. He didn't have to ask. His eyes flicked to the letter, which was still clutched in my right hand, then back to my face.

"Oh God, Gin..."

The pain in his voice caused another ragged breath to hitch in my throat, coming out as a broken sob.

He sank down, sitting on the other end of the couch, facing me with a pained and worried expression. "What can I do? I'll do anything. Anything to make you happy again."

Harry's POV

I walked towards Ginny's trailer after everyone else had gone back to their respective hotels. I didn't see the point, personally. Most of us didn't finish training until nearly three am, and I knew Alicia, Cho, and Bill had to be at morning training with Ginny and I.

There really was no point, but it was their call, I guess.

I wondered what Ginny and I would do tonight, if she wasn't already asleep. I doubted it. No matter how tired she was, she'd stay up that little bit longer to talk to me, or to hear me play a few songs for her on my guitar – a muggle invention she seemed fascinated by – before eventually bidding me good night and getting some much-needed sleep.

Not that I didn't need the sleep, but she would always come first. What Ginny wanted, Ginny got. Without question or discussion. It was automatic; I couldn't tell her no.

I knocked, but she didn't answer. That didn't bother me; it was rare that she would answer. She was always listening to the Wizarding Wireless. By now, she kind of just expected me to let myself in, but I always knocked first, even if she couldn't hear me. The only time I hadn't knocked, she had been butt-naked, and dancing around her trailer. I would never make that mistake again.

Not that I didn't enjoy the view. I did. A lot. It's a memory that replays in my mind, over and over, every time I shut my eyes. And even sometimes when I don't. So, no, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy the view.

It was that...she wasn't mine.

There. I admitted it.

She wasn't mine, and it was hell having to see her – the girl I wanted so badly it hurt – so very naked, and know that I couldn't do a damn thing. I couldn't tell her how beautiful she was, or how much I wanted her. I couldn't hold her, or touch her, or love her like I wanted to.

I had to smother those feelings, and continue being her best friend. I could do that, just so long as I didn't have to see her naked. Or see her with her boyfriend. He was nice enough, and Ginny loved him, but it was really a bit much to ask of my self-control.

I took a deep breath to clear my head, then stepped inside. Ginny was sitting on her beat-up, midnight blue sofa with her back to me.

There was no sound coming from the wireless, perched atop her dresser.

Was she asleep?

"Hey, Gin. Not going back tonight?" I asked, casually, as I walked toward her. I flinched a little at the sound of my shoes on the linoleum. I had cheap carpeting put down in my trailer, but I understood her reasoning behind choosing linoleum. I only used my trailer on my occasional breaks, and the odd night when Ginny came to me, instead of the other way around. I guess, since Ginny used her trailer about as much, she had decided the carpeting wasn't worth it.

She didn't speak, or turn to look at me. She just shook her head.

Was she mad at me? No, I didn't think so. Ginny wasn't the silent type. If I had pissed her off, I would know about it.

Something had to be wrong. Was it her dad? Her mum? One of her brothers, maybe? I didn't know her family well, but I had met them enough times to know that they were Ginny's life. Her dad was her hero, her mum was...well, everything a mum should be, and her brothers – Ron, Fred, and George – were her best friends.

I walked closer, until I was almost right behind her. She didn't move an inch. "Me, either," I commented, struggling desperately to keep my voice light, casual. "I guess we're the only ones, aside from Oliver."

Oliver, our coach, never went back to the hotel, it seemed. The only time he ever did was if his wife, Katie, visited. She was sweet, and everyone liked having her around, but her jobs as a healer and teacher at Hogwarts were time-consuming, and she was lucky if she got a weekend off, much less a week or two, unlike Bill's wife, Fleur. As a model, she could visit pretty much whenever she liked. Unfortunately, she was your stereotypical model; blonde, bitchy, snobby, and a very fussy eater. Oh, and did I mention she hated rain, clouds, wind, and the cold? That's all it ever is during the British winter. Welcome to reality, sweetheart.

I figured she either wasn't going to tell me at all, or was going to wait until I asked, so I went to sit down by her feet on the other end of the sofa. Then I saw her face. All the air left my lungs in a whoosh and I froze, my eyes unable to leaver her face, and the heartbroken expression there.

"Ginny, what the fuck?"

But I knew. I didn't have to ask. My eyes flicked down to a roll of parchment, which she was clutching like a life preserver, then back to her face.

"Oh God, Gin..."

A ragged breath hitched in her throat, coming out as a broken sob. That did it for me. I couldn't take it. I sank down, sitting on the other end of the couch, and faced her with what I am sure was a pained and worried expression. I couldn't lie around her: every emotion showed clear as day on my face, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. "What can I do? I'll do anything. Anything to make you happy again."

Ginny's POV

I'll admit it, I was a little forward, a little desperate, but my heart had been broken, shattered into a million pieces by the man who had promised to love me forever. So, without thinking, I crawled onto Harry's lap and buried my face in his chest. He didn't push me away or ask what I was doing, he just wrapped his arms around me and whispered, "I'll do whatever it takes."

I hoped he meant it, because it was going to take a hell of a lot of work on his part, and mine, to even begin to fix my broken heart.

He held me all night, letting me cry it out. He didn't speak; he didn't ask questions or try to comfort me with meaningless words. He knew me better than that. He knew what I needed, and what I needed was his presence. Nothing more; it was enough for me just to know that he, at least, was there for me. That he wasn't leaving me. That I was important to him, even if I was no longer important to Michael.

Eventually, I fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep, with my head on his chest and my hand gripping the front of his shirt like it was the last thing on earth. Which, in a funny way, it kind of was.